Justification for Murder (14 page)

D
arcy knocked on the door of the second interview room. He balanced a cup of coffee in each hand while he opened the door with his elbow. He found Saffron and Bob trying to console each other. They turned and looked back at him as if he were an intruder.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I thought you could both use some coffee.” He set the cups on the table. Steam swirled upwards.

“Thank you,” Saffron said, taking one in both hands as if she were trying to warm her fingers.

“Detective Sorensen will be at his desk when you’re ready,” he told Bob and closed the door behind him.

Darcy now understood the grave danger Saffron was in. He had told Virago it was just a matter of time until the killer got her, that she needed to put a real detective on the case, but she refused. The brake fluid-tainted piece of fabric in Emma’s teeth didn’t make any sense, but he had a nagging feeling the two cases were connected somehow. Even though some people think a coincidence is just that, he really didn’t believe in coincidences.

He walked back to the bullpen. It was bustling with noise and activity. It was the end of the day and everybody was at their desks working on their case notes so they could go home. He knew that wasn’t going to be his fate.

He saw Virago come out of her office from the corner of his eye. She walked toward the space that separated his desk from Sorensen’s and put both hands on her hips, hoping her silent presence would draw the desired attention from her detective. Darcy sat on his desk facing her, but Sorensen kept working, oblivious of the captain’s visit.

“Sorensen,” she said louder than she needed to.

“Yes, boss?” He turned around at once.

“In my office.”

As soon as they started moving away, Darcy realized that whatever the captain wanted didn’t have anything to do with him.

But before he had time to start his computer, Virago turned from her office door and said, “You too.”

“
Moi
?” he asked, imitating a bad French accent.

She ignored him and headed in but held the door open until Darcy entered. Virago followed him and leaned against her desk while the two detectives stood kitty-corner from her.

“Lynch, tell me what you think about the new developments.”

Darcy thought for a second. He wished he’d had more time to try to make sense of everything they’d learned in the last half hour.

“I think the perp that’s after Saffron Meadows killed Emma Hughes. I think he followed Saffron’s car…” Darcy saw Virago raised an eyebrow when he mentioned the victim by her first name, and rephrased: “I think he thought he was following Meadows and in the dark killed Hughes, thinking it was her.”

“But they don’t look alike at all,” Virago argued.

“She was wearing a scarf. Maybe she covered her hair and the killer didn’t see that she was blond.”

“Sorensen, anything to add?”

“I told you this case was going to be Lynch’s.”

“Anything of value to add?”

“I talked to Clark. He’s finished the autopsy and he told me that the last stab wound, the one to the right lung, was less deep, as is if it was done with less force. Maybe he realized then that he had made a mistake and didn’t push the knife all the way in.”

They fell silent for a few seconds. There was still a lot of movement outside of Virago’s office, and the noise seeped into the room. The captain moved around her desk and sat down. She brushed her hair back with both hands, closed her eyes and sighed loudly.

“Have you gone to the range yet?” she asked Lynch.

“No.”

“I told you that you had until the end of the week. What day is today?”

“I’m done here, right?” Sorensen interrupted.

“No,” she said and paused for a second. “I want Darcy to take the Hughes case since it’s probably related to the Meadows case. You busy enough with the suicides?”

“I told you that you should have given it to him from the start.”

“Get the hell out of here and get me some progress on those suicides.”

Sorensen left, mumbling something. Darcy had to force himself to stop grinding his teeth. He sat and looked straight at Virago.

“I can’t have you working cases and not be qualified. You have to get this done tonight or tomorrow.”

“I won’t pass. I took this job because it was mostly a desk job, with some menial cases that nobody else wanted. This is a serious case, with one victim already dead and another one who attacked a guy who was trying to pick her up at the gym, because she thought he was the guy who’s trying to kill her.” He paused, trying to maintain his voice level.

“What?” she asked.

He looked at her, not knowing what Virago was referring to.

“What was that about attacks at a gym?”

Darcy glossed over Saffron’s little assault as fast as he could, regretting having mentioned it. Virago’s expression told him she didn’t really want to know more either. He moved on.

“And based on what Mauricio said, I think the car accident is also connected to these other two.”

“Because of the glycol?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.” He rubbed his left temple and looked back at Virago. “If you really care about solving these cases, and possibly not having any more deaths, you need to assign them to somebody else. I’m not your man for this.”

The captain stood up and put both hands on the table. She leaned forward and looked at him. There was an intensity in her honey eyes he’d never seen before.

“I don’t have anybody else. Get qualified in the next twenty-four hours and do your fucking job.”

Darcy stared back at her, wondering how long he could keep his good eye from blinking.

Almost a minute later, she said, “You used to be one of the best detectives in Seattle. What the hell happened to you that made you such a pussy?”

His body tensed up and he jumped from the chair. Heading toward the door, he said through clenched teeth, “You know exactly what happened in Seattle.”

When he reached the door, he opened it and, loud enough so everybody could hear, he said, “I quit. This way you won’t have to fire me when I don’t pass the qualification.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” she yelled back, but he was already out of the bullpen, heading to the elevator.

S
orensen tapped at his computer with two fingers. Searching the ViCAP database was better than it had been in the old days, but the system still had its handicaps. From the corner of his eye he saw Lynch storm out. Then he saw Bob Hughes’ and Saffron’s shocked expressions as the detective walked by.

“The interview room is in the other direction,” he yelled behind him, but Lynch was already gone. Sorensen turned 180 degrees and saw Virago walk toward him. She looked as if she had just sucked on a lemon.

“Uh-oh.” He mumbled under his breath.

As soon as she reached his desk, she whispered, “You’re back on,” motioning toward Hughes with a tilt of her head.

He refrained from complaining even though he really wanted to, then approached Hughes and apologized for the scene they*d just witnessed.

“What happened?” Saffron asked.

“You know as much as I do,” Sorensen said. “Please follow me,” he said to Bob Hughes.

Saffron and Bob hugged.

“I’ll help you with all the arrangements,” she said, squeezing her best friend’s widower’s arm.

Bob nodded and mouthed a silent “Thank you.”

Sorensen walked Bob back to the interview room. Sitting across from Hughes, he covered the standard preliminary questions. Bob had an alibi and no, he couldn’t think of anybody who would want to kill his wife.

“Do you know of anybody who would want to kill Saffron Meadows?” Sorensen asked.

“Saffron? No. Nobody.” He paused, trying to make sense of his new reality. “Saffron told me somebody had tried to kill her on Highway 17. I can’t believe it.”

“Was your wife pretty close to Ms. Meadows?”

“Yes, they worked together a few years back. They’ve been best friends since.” He interlaced his fingers on top of the table and leaned forward a few inches. “Yesterday you said it looked like somebody was trying to rob my wife and they killed her in the process. Why are you asking me about Saffron?”

“Mr. Hughes, your wife was driving Ms. Meadows’ car.”

“You think he was trying to kill Saffron and killed my wife instead?”

“We don’t know enough to make that assumption. I’m trying to collect all the information I can as part of the investigation. Please understand that even questions that seem irrelevant to you have a purpose for us.”

Bob nodded. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled, leaning back into the chair again. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

Sorensen continued asking questions, some routine, some more specific. What did Emma do? Any uncharacteristic behavior lately—late meetings, new friends, weird calls at odd hours? Nothing. After almost an hour of throwing darts in the dark, he said, “I think we’re done for today, but I may have more questions tomorrow. Is it okay if I call you?”

“Of course. I may go to Marin to leave Sofia with my parents, but you can reach me on my cell at any time.”

Sorensen walked Bob to the elevator and after they shook hands he said, “I’m going to do everything I can to find who did this.”

Bob thanked him and left, looking older than he had when he walked in a few hours earlier.

Sorensen went back to his desk and turned the whiteboard around so he could look at the evidence. He then went to Darcy’s board and brought it over to his, so he could look at all of the cases together. But he didn’t get any brilliant ideas.

He decided to go back to do some research on ViCAP. Nothing jumped out. He grabbed the stress toy that looked like a soccer ball and squeezed it with his left hand while he typed different keywords in the search bar.

“Jon, any luck with the DVDs?” He needed a different angle to look at things from.

“Unfortunately not. I looked through all of them.”

“Shit. Okay, thanks.”

He stared at the boards and saw three women staring back at him. Three women who had supposedly killed themselves in horrible ways. Sorensen convinced himself Lynch would come back and decided to check one more thing on the database before going home.

He searched for suspicious deaths having to do with self-breast-mutilation and waited for the results. After a few minutes Sorensen got three possible matches.

The first one was a prostitute who had jumped, or had been pushed, from an overpass, fell on a fence and bled to death. Sorensen had no idea why the computer thought this was a good match, and after carefully reviewing all of the data, he concluded that the case was not remotely related and moved on.

The second one was a woman from Fremont, California, who had carved her own breast with a number four Phillips screwdriver her ex-husband had left behind in the garage. It took over a week for anybody to find her. Sorensen printed the case details and made a mental note to call the detective who worked on the case before he headed home.

The third one was also a woman, living in Seattle, who had cut her breast out in the master bathroom while her family was eating pizza downstairs. The husband went to look for her, found her bleeding on the floor and called 911. She was pronounced DOA at the hospital. Sorensen also printed her ViCAP notes.

He picked up both printouts and knocked on Virago’s door. Before she answered he went in.

“You know my suicides?”

She looked up over the rim of her glasses.

“I found two more.”

“Where?”

“One in Fremont. I’m calling the detective on my way home. One in Seattle. You need to get pretty boy back and have him reach out to his old buddies.”

S
affron realized her mouth had been open since Darcy made his grand exit. She forced it closed and headed toward the elevator to get the scoop directly from him. She wiped her already-dried tears with the back of her hand and hit the elevator button several times to make it come faster. When it didn’t, she ran down the stairs, hoping to still find him before he reached the parking lot. But she didn’t see him, so she walked into the structure and looked for the spot where he had parked before. When she heard the Cobra’s engine roar she knew she had to hurry. Her heels clicked loudly on the pavement and she prayed not to sprain her ankle on the run.

Lynch was beginning to pull out when she reached him. She placed herself behind the car, put both hands on her hips and looked directly at him through the rearview mirror.

She saw his head shake, and she almost smiled.

“You need to talk to Detective Sorensen,” he said to her, not turning his head. “He’s handling your case now.”

“I thought you were doing it.”

“Not anymore.”

She still didn’t move. “Why?” she asked.

“Please move. I have somewhere to be.”

“Are you working on another case?” From his exit, she figured he wasn’t, but she didn’t want to say what she thought she’d heard, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

“No, I quit,” he said, making it real. “Didn’t you hear it?”

“You can’t do that,” she said, now moving to the passenger side and getting in before he had a chance to react.

“I just did, Saffron.”

“You can’t quit my case. Why would you do that?”

“Please get out of the car. I have to leave.”

She turned slightly, but instead of opening the door, she grabbed the seat belt and clicked it. She saw Darcy shake his head again.

“I still don’t have a car. The least you can do is take me home.”

Before he could protest, she crossed her arms and faced him. He ignored her and put the car back in reverse.

“You should buckle up. It’s the law,” she looked at him and saw him clench his teeth and knew she had won another argument.

“Saffron, I quit the job. It’s got nothing to do with your case. I’m no longer a detective.”

“Semantics, don’t you think?” She looked down as he snapped the buckle. “If you quit, why do you still have your gun?”

He reached to his hip and felt the gun inside the holster. “Fuck!”

Saffron started laughing, then he followed.

“Well, so much for my dramatic exit. Now I’ll have to go back and return my badge and my gun.”

“You seriously left high and all mighty and forgot to leave the company goods?” She punched him on the shoulder as she said the words between more laughs. “I would pay anything if you let me go with you when you give them back.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t attack a guy who was trying to pick me up,” he countered.

She looked at him, showing him the comparison didn’t even come close.

Before reaching the exit, Darcy stopped.

“Oh, you can’t go back now,” she said, reading his mind.

He didn’t move but nodded. He started moving again, heading toward the exit.

“Let me buy you a drink. For all the driving you’ve done. Then you can come back. At least by then there should be less people in the office to watch your walk of shame.”

He passed his hand over his face and agreed. “Okay, fine. But don’t even think you’re going to convince me to change my mind.”

“I promise. I was actually going to offer you a job.”

His eyebrows lifted when he looked at her. The outside air was getting colder. It was starting to get dark, but the orange streetlights were still too dim.

“I would like you to be my personal chauffeur.”

She grinned and shoved both hands into her jacket pocket.

“You can’t afford me.”

He tried to remain serious but the corners of his mouth lifted upwards.

He drove to Santana Row. She wondered if he wanted to go there because he needed the distraction of people walking around, laughing, trying to hook up, drinking, or because that was his regular hangout spot. She decided not to ask. They settled for Straits. It was dark, the music was loud, and it was pretty crowded. They found a place by the bar, in a comfortable white leather love seat. They sat with enough distance between them to avoid touching, but close enough so they could hear each other without having to yell.

A young girl in a very short and tight teal dress came with menus. Saffron ordered a lychee martini, and Darcy asked for a Macallan 25 scotch, neat.

Before she could ask the question, he said, “One drink, no work talk, okay?”

She nodded, disappointed she hadn’t spoken first. “So, what do you want to talk about, then?”

“How’s Ranjan?”

“I don’t know.”

A pang of guilt hit her gut. She hadn’t even tried calling him to see how he was recuperating.

“You don’t know?” He put the glass to his lips and observed her over the brim.

“We broke up yesterday.”

His stare was fixed on her. His good eye shined a little.

“The arranged marriage thing?”

Saffron nodded and looked away, put the glass down on the low table and crossed her arms. Darcy moved back a little.

Before she replied, he said, “I went back to the hospital and his uncle was there. I also saw a bunch of pictures of different women. I just put two and two together because of what you told me about your fight before the hit and run.”

“Yeah. Honestly, I’ve known for a long time that it wasn’t going anywhere. What was I thinking robbing the cradle? You just get into a routine and don’t see what’s what until things get shaken.”

“I understand.”

“Anyway, I cried for a second. I’m over it.” She raised her glass. “For new beginnings. You, a job as my driver, and me, as a single woman.”

Before their glasses touched, he moved his away. “I’m not toasting about my new job.”

“Okay then, for my singlehood.”

The second round of drinks arrived. Saffron knew it wasn’t appropriate to ask, but she felt that having been on the verge of being killed twice in that many days probably gave her some leeway to ask whatever she wanted.

“What happened to your eye?”

Darcy immediately started rubbing his temple He looked away. And after a second he stopped.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

He sighed loudly and looked at her. “Do you want to know the truth or the story I tell girls when I want them to think I’m super interesting?”

Saffron looked away and took a sip of her martini so she had a little time to think.

“Whichever one you want to give me, Detective Darcy Lynch.” Her voice was lower, graver, but not quite a whisper.

She stared at him, searching for something. Was he flirting with her? She didn’t know. Darcy leaned toward her, so close that his musky, masculine scent filled her nostrils. His breath was warm on her lips. She opened them just a little, and she saw him do the same. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would leap out of her chest. She closed her eyes.

He brushed her lips with his but then Saffron felt the air get cold between them and opened her eyes. He was pulling away from her. She felt lost, rejected, disappointed. Then she tried to smile to dissipate the awkwardness between them, but the muscles on her face felt tight, forced. She leaned toward the table, grabbed her drink and finished it in three gulps. When she leaned back on the sofa, her back was straighter. She crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry—” Darcy said.

She put a hand up in the air to make him stop. Her eyes blinked a couple times, fighting away the tears of embarrassment.

“Just tell me about your eye,” she said, trying to refocus the conversation.

“Let me make a pit stop. I’ll tell you the whole story when I get back.”

“Sounds good.”

As soon as he was out of sight, she grabbed her purse and jacket and left the restaurant. She cursed herself again for not having rented a car. As she walked toward Stevens Creek, she searched in her contacts for a San Jose cab service. The dispatcher told her that number 4238 would be there in two minutes. She waited by the Best Buy store, hoping that Darcy, if he even went after her, wouldn’t find her before the taxi arrived.

As promised, the green-and-white car with number 4238 on the hood showed up, and she headed home. She felt tears of humiliation burn her eyes. She started singing a song in her head to stop thinking about the evening. Then her mind wondered to Emma and how much fun they had the last time they went to karaoke and sang that song. Saffron started to cry. Her whole body heaved while she wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop.